


Red, Red, Red Heat

by Gildedmuse



Category: Rent (2005), Rent - Larson
Genre: Light Angst, M/M, One Shot, One Sided Roger/Mark, Originally Posted on LiveJournal, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Smut, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-06
Updated: 2019-05-06
Packaged: 2020-02-27 02:14:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18729652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gildedmuse/pseuds/Gildedmuse
Summary: Mark needs the contact.





	Red, Red, Red Heat

**Author's Note:**

> [Posted to LJ in 2006]

**Red, Red, Red Heat**

 

The situation couldn't be any more awkward.

 

Mark is standing in the kitchen trying to get the hotplate to work and maybe fix something to eat that isn't stale cereal. It keeps frizzing and humming, like Mark suspects any working appliance would, but refuses to heat up. He'd be better off preparing the canned soup over a light bulb. Even worse, the low buzz and soft clicks aren't enough to block out the noises filling the loft, coming up from the air vents and bouncing around the uncomfortable silence of the room.

 

"Deep-Deeper!" The high, breathy voice hisses, echoing through Mark's head.

 

He keeps flicking the switch of the hot plate, trying to ignore the way the word played again and again in his mind even once the louder, incoherent moans had replaced it. In as calm a voice as he can manage he says, "It must hurt, listening to them."

 

Through the thin floor it's easy to hear the rhythmic thumping pick up. Mimi's voice is so clear she could have been right in Roger's room. Mark's pretty sure if he closes his eyes and listens for it, he could pick up the sound of flesh slapping against flesh. Mimi screams, "Harder!"

 

Benny cocks an eyebrow, as if just noticed the sounds from underneath them. He's leaning against the counters like he stills lives there, like he never left and that noise in the background is just Roger and April. Erase the last three years of their life, put with him in some dirty clothes, and it's just Mark and Benny joking about Roger's sex drive. His tone isn't all that amused. "Does it?"

 

It does.

 

Mark holds his hand over the hot plate, moving it closer when he can't feel any heat radiating off the springs. Moving closer until his fingertips are touching the still cool metal. He could slam his face against it and come back unburned, unscorched, not even mildly warm. "I'm not the one in love with Mimi."

 

"Good," Benny answers. "Neither am I."

 

More awkward silence only broken by Mimi's shrill cries through the vent. Something about not being afraid. There's a low grumble that might be Roger's answer. Mark unplugs the hotplate, plugs in the lamp and throws the switch. The bulb flickers a bit, but eventually lights up. He tries the hotplate again.

 

"Red... Please!"

 

"You're such an asshole," Mark says. He crouches down until he's eye level with the appliance, tapping the top as if a little touch will fix whatever is wrong with it. Nothing happens.

 

He stand up and looks over at Benny, who is watching him with a deep frown. "I could-"

 

"It's fine," Mark cuts him off, walks over to the cupboards, takes out a mostly empty box of coco puffs. He makes a face when he starts to chew, forcing himself to swallow the half a year old cereal down.

 

"What brings you to these parts?" It almost sounds friendly, almost like there isn't two years worth of hostility between them. They could have been roommates, friends again. Only Benny left, becoming the yuppie scum guys like Mark are supposed to hate. It helps that he had left him to take care of Roger all by himself, helps that he tried to escape in the middle of the night without any sort of goodbye. Mark has never had too much trouble hating Benny for that. "I thought you said we could live here for free, or has something else come up again?"

 

Mark goes back to trying to eat some of the disgusting old cereal so he doesn't have to see the hurt flicker across his old friend's face. It's Benny, though, and even if Mark's word stung, no one would have known. "Thought I'd check up on you guys."

 

"As you can see, we're still alive," Mark answers, throwing the now empty box into the sink. He licks at his teeth, trying to clean off the stale, paper-tasting film the cereal had left behind. His mouth feels dry, and his stomach isn't any fuller. He glances back at the hotplate.

 

Benny sighs, straightening out his jacket. The chill of October is just beginning to settle in, and once again the occupants of the loft have no heat or food. For a second Mark is jealous. Jealous that Benny's so damn sensible, that he had the reason and the resources to move up in life. Jealous that he isn't afraid to ask his father-in-law for money to finance his dreams. Jealous that he lives somewhere warm, with someone who loves him and will always turn on the heat when he comes home.

 

Mark shakes his head to clear away those thoughts. He's a bohemian filmmaker. He's not supposed to want help from his parents, a nice place to stay, heat in the winter. He just needs his art, right?

 

Benny is still messing with his jacket, and Mark starts eying the nice material, wondering how warm it must be. He just needs his art but a coat like that would be nice, too.

 

"I came," Benny answers, looking at him with eyes that haven't changed a day since Brown. If Mark wanted, he could block out the clean suit and nice jacket and see Benny in hand-me-downs from his three older brothers, sitting on the edge of his bed when Mark stumbled into the dorm for the first time with a nagging mother and silent father in tow. "To see how you were doing."

 

Mark shivers, wrapping his arms around his chest. He just wants to curl into bed and not come out until summer. "Why do you care?"

 

From below them, Mimi screams, "Bastard!"

 

Benny sighs, low and frustrated like a worn out parent, with Mark being the screaming kid. Only he signed up for the role when he decided to grow up and move out. "You know I worry about you, Mark."

 

"Wonderful way of showing it," Mark says before he can swallow back the words. "Going back on your promise."

 

"I'm not making you pay anymore," Benny points out, and it's true that he's let them live there for free, hasn't bugged them since New Years.

 

"Turning off our heat."

 

"Well, I haven't had the money to pay the bills that I'm letting you slide on," Benny replies, quickly adding, "I'm doing the best I can, Mark," before Mark can accuse him of anything else.

 

"I'm freezing," Mark says, rubbing his hands over his arms to create some heat. It doesn't help too much, considering his hands are even colder than the rest of him.

 

Benny frowns, watching Mark's shivers. "What about that coat I gave you before I left?" Mark doesn't answer, just keeps rubbing his arms. He still has the coat, of course, but he's not about to fess up to it. He doesn't, shouldn't need help from someone like Benny. Artistic morals told him he should freeze before he took that kind of charity. Didn't stop him from wrapping himself up in the coat at night when the heater was broken and the snow outside his window was a foot deep.

 

"And our power blows out sometimes." He's pretty sure a lot of it has to do with the poor wiring of the loft, but as long as Benny is here to listen to the tenant's complaints and he did ask how Mark is doing. How Mark is doing is he is freezing, occasionally without power, and usually with his best friend's whining about his junkie girlfriend. How Mark is doing is not good at all, so if Benny is taking the time to check up on him he might as well know that.

 

Benny presses a soft - too soft - hand against Mark's cheek. "You are cold," he says, cupping Mark's face. It's an old, familiar touch. Something Mark had forgotten about, but now the memory of contact came racing back to him. Being warm, being wanted, all those things Mark has really been missing out on lately. It's one of those things that, after a while, it's easy to forget how much everyone needs it, but the second you have it you can't do without. Mark can't do without it, and it seems like the only way to keep it is to lean forward.

 

Mark kisses Benny for barely a second before jumping back like he's been burned. Feels burned. Suddenly, the loft isn't so cold, and Mark can feel his cheeks heating up.

 

"I didn't..." He trails off, taking off his glasses and cleaning them on the end of his scarf. Had he meant to do that? He's not even sure. Right at that moment, though, Benny had felt like the old Benny and it had seemed so natural.

 

Benny starts straightening out his jacket again, but he's not jolting backwards like Mark. "I better go before your boyfriend gets back."

 

"He's not my..." Mark trails off, sighing when he can tell that Benny's not so much listening as heading for the door. It's the smart thing to do, just walk away from each other and go back to their lives without bringing this mess up again. Then again, the loft is cold and Mark is freezing, and even Benny is better company that Mimi's high voice grunting and groaning all around him. "Don't just leave." Mark didn't realize how sincere and desperate he was going to sound until it's out and he has no way to take it back. "Look, I know I shouldn't have-" This time it's Benny who leans in to kiss Mark.

 

It's the kind of slow kiss that makes you stop worrying about things. Lips moving together, tongues exploring. Mark doesn't have to think about it, because it's the kind of contact that doesn't allow for much thinking. He pulls closer, pulls them back until he's squashed between the counter and Benny. His lips are softer than Mark remembers them being. He's not as scrawny either, though God knows Mark still is, and he's warm to the touch. Like fire. Like the hotplate Mark couldn't get working. He tastes like red hot cinnamon gum, like toothpaste that burns away the cavities.

 

The first time they had kissed had been three months into college. Benny had tasted like tequila and smoke, and Mark probably about the same. It had been a drunk, sloppy kiss that pushed Benny back in bed with Mark stumbling on top of him, laughing and kissing his roommate until both boys had passed out.

 

The boys pull back for air, Mark whimpering when the contact is lost. Benny tries to keep his face blank, but Mark can see the confusion. There's a chill that bites at Mark now that he's got no one to warm him, unprotected from the elements, and it jolts him right back into reality. Fuck, he couldn't be doing this. Not with Benny, of all people. Sure, they'd experimented in college but that was before he'd left them for the sweet and easy life. That was a long time ago, and Mark is supposed to have the pride and integrity to be better than some yuppie, married dog.

 

Benny swallows, looking away from Mark like he can see all the thoughts on the boy's face. "I should-"

 

Mark cups the back of his neck and forces their mouths back together.

 

It's been almost two years, which sounds like a decent excuse to Mark. Two years since Maureen left him, citing the fact that Mark spent far too much time watching after the hopeless drug addict locked away in his room when they both knew - everyone knew - the real reasons, had seen this coming for months. Two years of harboring a pathetic crush on his best friend who gave him up when some stripper waltzed into the loft looking for a match. Two years with nothing but his hand for company, Mark figures he's allowed to kiss Benny. Insanity is clearly an option right now.

 

Plus, Benny feels so good pressing against him. Benny is warm in ways that Mark is not. Benny kisses him soft and deep, like they're back in the dorm, when they had all the time in the world and Mark would always be the geeky filmmaker trying to study business and Benny would always be the hard working kid whose dreams of owning a place, of making money the way his family never had didn't sound yuppie or traitorous. Before Mark understood that bohemia and industry didn't mix. That's the way it feels when Benny kisses him.

 

The thumping of the headrest against the wall downstairs is so clear it could have been right next to them. Mimi's panting can be heard in the loft above Benny and Mark's silent kiss, deep moans that could only be Roger's breaking in every now and then. She screams, "More!"

 

Mark's fist curl around the collar of Benny's jacket, and he shrugs it off. His fingers brush over the fabric of the dress shirt and Benny throws it aside. He grabs at Benny' shoulders and he pulls Mark away from the counter, leading them towards the bedroom. All the time kissing, not like starving men but like boys who know things would never change. That they're the only constant in a quick paced, impossible world.

 

Mark's shirt, scarf, pants get stripped off and he's pressing against Benny for the warmth, the contact.

 

When they were in college, Benny told Mark he needed to learn how to compromise. Mark was complaining about his Economics class, about how the teacher treated capitalism like some sort of god that couldn't be questioned. Benny sat next to him in bed, science book sprawled of his lap and he clapped Mark on the shoulder and said, "You just need to learn how to choose your battles. You can't fight off the whole world, Mark."

 

Hands in Mark's hair, massaging. "Sometimes you have to lie about things. They all do it, and you have to get in the game." Roughly kneading behind Mark's ears until he was leaning in, pressing back. Mark didn't think, just moaned Benny's name and by then neither had any idea what they'd been talking about.

 

When Benny moved out Roger said, "He's a sell out now." Roger, drugged up and trying to hide it from Mark who has prepared for another week of shaking and crying and tearing at his arms to try and get another hit before the withdrawal kills him, said, "You can't compromise your morals just because he's a friend."

 

Compromise friendship for your morals.

 

Compromise your morals for the contact.

 

Mark falls back on the bed, panting, trying not to listen to Mimi scream, "YES!" Tugs Benny on top of him. Feels that wonderful contact, heat, fire burning between their skin. Kisses him hard enough that Roger, Alison, Maureen, New York, selling out, documentaries, all that stuff, it just fades away for a while.

 

Somewhere beneath them Mimi is shouting, "Burn... God, it feels so good it burns... Yes, Roger, God, yes!" Over and over, maybe different words but in that same gravelly voice, that same groan. Benny's lips are over his collar bone, and Mark bucks his hips, spreads his legs, bites down in case Roger and Mimi can hear him as clearly as he can hear them. Tries to keep the sound of them going through the bedside drawer for lube and a condom to a minimum. Tries not to scream when Benny sucks and nips at and marks his neck.

 

The thumping from downstairs stops suddenly, and Mimi yelps something that isn't one of Benny's fingers pressing gently between his legs. Roger's voice echoes through the room, but it's not Benny sliding inside him so Mark doesn't care. Blocks everything out except the painful stretch, the hands on his waist, moist lips against his slick skin.

 

There's only us.

 

Lips smash together, thrusting that isn't fast enough, whines held at the back of his throat so that no one hears them. Mark feels hot, like he's burning up from the inside, and he's sure he'll never go cold again.

 

There's only this.

 

Benny collapsing on top of him, chanting Mark's name over and over again against the boy's shoulder. Mark's mouth is still hanging open in the silent scream of his orgasm. Thoughts fly through his head, either trying to regroup or run off before Mark can grab a hold of them and realize what he's doing.

 

Without giving anything a second to sink in, the loft door is being yanked open and slammed shut again with loud metallic crashes overlapping. The way that Mark jumps out from under Benny, off the bed, Roger might have burst right into the room and caught them still naked and tangled up.

 

Roger's too busy yelling in the commons to find Mark, guilty and warm in his bedroom. "Fucking girl. Who does she think she is? Fuck..."

 

Mark hurries to get out, almost forgetting about his clothes. Never looking back at Benny, he throws on what he can and runs out to meet his roommate. "Roger!" He closes his door before Roger has a chance to look, knowing what he'd see. No way he could explain it to Roger, how he'd been so cold and untouched. It's Benny, who Mark isn't even supposed to be on speaking terms with. What would Roger think?

 

Two years ago, Benny hiking the bag up his arm, standing at the door before he ran off to live with Muffy, asking Mark, "Why do you care so much about him?" Asking, "What has he ever done for you?"

 

Standing at the door, unable to take freezing to death and Mark attending to every one of Roger's needs without question, asking, "Where did I go wrong?"

 

Mark shakes his head to clear out the old memories, dusting them aside like cobwebs blocking out the light. Roger is Mark's friend, his best friend. Benny never understood that. Mark never understood that.

 

Roger is pacing around the kitchen, tearing through bare cupboards. He even picks up the cereal box Mark had thrown in the sink before tossing it back down. He's shirtless, sweaty, hair wild from sex, and Mark remembers why he started wanting his roommate in the first place. After finding nothing to eat he sighs, fist pummeling the counter top. Mark takes a few cautious steps towards him. "Roger?"

 

"It's Mimi," Roger says, as if Mark even needs to ask. He looks up at Mark, so torn up looking, so desperate, and Mark remembers why he fell in love with Roger. The rock star who acted so confident, but in the end needed Mark to take care of him, to clean up after him. No one needed him until Roger. "She doesn't... I... Mark."

 

Mark walks over, pats him on the shoulder. "It'll be okay."

 

Roger shakes his head. "No. It's over, Mark. This time... It's over."

 

"You know that's not true," Mark says. He wraps an arm around Roger's shoulders, smiling up at his best friend. "If you and Mimi break up, the whole building is going to have to find some other way to get free porn."

 

Roger's too broken up to do more than smile, and the idea of listening into his friend's sexual activates hit too close to home with Mark. Neither boy really laughs at the bad joke.

 

Mark says, "You just need to give these things time."

 

Roger falls against him, leaning into the crook of Mark's arm. "I... I can't. Not anymore." Mark wants to tell Roger that this is okay, too. That there are people other than Mimi out there that could make him just as happy. The problem is, he's not sure if that's true or not, and what type of best friend lies about something so important?

 

He lets Roger press a little closer than he should, run his hand through Mark's hair when he pulls away even if all the touching is more than friendly. If he can pretend that all those years of tension between him and Benny can fade into thin air, he can pretend that Roger knows how Mark feels, feels the same and wants to touch him still. "I'm going go to bed."

 

The way Roger is leaning against him might make anyone else think they were supposed to follow, but Mark knows better. "I'll see what I can dig up for dinner." Roger nods, padding off to his room and leaving Mark to deal with all the hard stuff, because he can trust Mark to get it done. To fix everything he leaves broken.

 

The second Roger's gone, Benny comes out of Mark's room, buttoning his shirt, and Mark can tell he knows. Knows the way Mark absorbs Roger's touch, the way he's still pining after something he can't have. He can tell Benny knows this, and there is empathy in his face. Mark turns away, flickers the switch on the hot plate, and ignores the look. "I should go," he whispers, low enough that they can't be heard over the sour notes of Roger's guitar. "Mimi probably needs me."

 

Before Mark can stop himself, he's glaring across the counters at Benny, snapping. "I thought you said you didn't love her. Yet you're still going to go sleep with her?" Benny gives him a look that makes Mark's stomach twist with guilt, and this time it isn't as easy to ignore. Mark knows exactly what it means. "That's different."

 

"Of course it is," Benny answers, calm and collected. Not at all like a guy who just fell into bed with his old boyfriend - no, not boyfriend, just college experiment. Once again, Mark's jealous. How can Benny move so easily from one point in his life to another? Never bogged down by his failure, by his mistakes. Why do these things haunt Mark for so long when everyone else, even Roger, can move on?

 

"It is," Mark fires back, even if he's not sure how. The phone starts ringing, but they screen for bill collectors and family, so no one answers.

 

Benny shakes his head, pulls on his coat. Now he looks less like a friend and more like a businessman. "I can't be here to play villain for you. You want to blame someone for your failure, how about the guy who spent half your film money on smack?"

 

"That was a long time ago," Mark says. It's getting harder to keep his voice down. "Besides, you're the one who left me, remember? You left the loft."

 

Benny shrugs. "You had Maureen." Had a girlfriend that cheated on him, that walked all over him, that was beautiful and smart and a little overdramatic but never really Mark's.

 

"You had Alison." Had an old friend from Brown who cared for him, who he cared for even if it wasn't in the conventional love until death sense, who he'd never found sexually attractive or all that interesting but had been there when Mark wasn't.

 

"You had Roger." Only problem is, no. Mark never did. Not even the physical way he'd had Maureen a few times. Not in any way at all.

 

Mark sighs and adjusts his glasses on his nose. "It's not that simple."

 

The phone stops ringing and the answering machine picks up with the usual, "Speak."

 

They've run out of things to say, and Benny's already heading for the door. "Mimi needs me." The loft door slides shut, cold and metallic, and Mark's never had a chill settle over him quite as quickly before. It's for the best, he tells himself. Him and Benny don't have anything in common anymore. It had been a mistake, always, and Mark just needs his camera right now to give himself a way to stop shaking.

 

Over the answering machine there is a few minutes pause before the caller speaks up. Collins' voice cracks, and Mark freezes, already hearing the tears on the other end. Stops being cold, starts feeling numb. "Guys? It's Collins. Angel... Angel..."


End file.
